


a touch of destiny

by Sweven



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Family, Force-Sensitive Shmi Skywalker, Mechanic Shmi Skywalker, Non-Explicit Sex, Not a Love Story, Not as bad as the tags make it seem, Power Dynamics, Slavery, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 15:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18593809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweven/pseuds/Sweven
Summary: On Tatooine, slaves do what's expected of them.





	a touch of destiny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts).



The first time he entered Watto's shop, Shmi felt something trickle down her spine. Something cold and uncomfortable that made her shiver with the knowledge that something was changing. 

It wasn't uncommon for her to have _sensations_ like this, though they were rarely as tangible as this. She just had more common sense than most, Shmi would always tell herself, nothing strange about that. Her common sense had never been wrong. 

She shoved the feeling aside and looked at the man stalking towards her. Tall. Masked. He wore strange armor for Tatooine, thick leather gloves and metal. Not what most people chose to wear in a desert. 

 

Something was off about him _(rough, sharp, death)._ It became clearer with every step he took, almost more a scent than a feeling, and her thoughts flashed to Ani in the back. The urge to run to him, to hide her child from this man who carried the stench of blaster fire with him was almost too strong to deny. 

She exhaled slowly. Shmi was no stranger to the dangerous creatures of the Outer Rim, and neither was Ani, even if he was too young to know it. He would be alright - as long as she did her job.

She wiped her hands on the nearest cloth _(dirty, everything in this shop was covered with oil)_ and walked towards the stranger. Besides, Watto would have her hide if she let a _feeling_  stop her from servicing potential customers.

 

"Can I assist you?", she asked, careful to keep the tremble of fear out of her voice. The air seemed to vibrate with anger around the man.

"No. Where's Watto?"

Shmi gestured silently to the side entrance where a swift fluttering of wings could be heard, relieved when the man strode past her without looking at her twice. He left a trail of tension behind him and Shmi shuddered. 

"Fett, my friend!," she heard Wattos muffled voice seconds before the sound of leather slamming against soft flesh reverberated through the air.

 

Shmi stepped carefully towards the door, trying to gauge the situation. She felt her calves shaking as her instincts told her to stay back  _(and something else told her to stay, stand closer)._

"The thermal detonator you sold me malfunctioned. It nearly blew up my ship, you pile of bantha dung," Fett snarled through the voice modulator. 

"My old friend, that's no way to treat me, how could I have known that my uh, supplier would sell me bad equipment?," Watto coughed thinly and Shmi heard his wings fluttering, albeit somewhat unevenly. 

"Don't pull that shit with me, you always know."

"Alright alright!," Shmi could hear the reluctance in Watto's voice even as his voice strained _(rough gloves against soft flesh, difficult to breathe)_."You'll get full compensation, and uh, uh, uhh, and a discount?

 

Leather creaked and the fluttering of wings became easier, less enclosed. Shmi could feel Watto's relief to the storefront.

Ani gurgled from the back room, and Shmi inched towards the door, grateful that the stranger seemed satisfied with Wattos promises. As she cradled Ani against her chest, she caught the stranger's demand.

 

"I need a hand with some upgrades on my ship. You'll see that it's done properly."

Shmi sighed. She knew, of course who was assigned to tasks such as those.

 

* * *

 

 

Finding Fett's ship wasn't hard - it was the one everyone avoided. Shmi squinted against the sun to look at the vessel. Strange design. It had clearly been heavily modified, and it was too unique to not stand out in Mos Espa. Curious choice for a ship in these parts, usually people who came to Tatooine were eager to hide in the crowd. 

Shmi felt a pull of interest despite herself. Watto had refused to tell her much, but the way the Toydarian had yielded to Fett was intriguing. She and Ani hadn't been with Watto long, but even so, she already knew that her master never backed down when it came to business. 

He was watching her, she was certain. Shmi could feel it in her bones. It wasn’t as hostile as it had been in the shop the day before, but still Shmi was puzzled by how blatant his observation was.

Clearly the man didn't mind telegraphing his presence, with his ship or his armor, or with his entire being. And there had been something else about him, underneath the anger. Something inscrutable (a touch of destiny) that she didn’t quite understand.

Sighing, she hefted her equipment. Better get this over with. 

 

He stood at the hatch, watching her lug the heavy equipment over, silent and towering above her.

"I’ll uh," she said awkwardly as she stood at the entrance. "I’ll just get started, alright?"

Fett nodded and led her into the ship. Shmi's breath hitched when she entered the hold - the space was narrow and dark, but she was used to that. What surprised her was the cages lining the wall furthest from the entrance. All of them smelled of metal and despair.

In one of them sat a Rodian, breathing and awake but unmoving _(throat raw, fists bloodied, hopeless_ ).

"Is he a criminal?," Shmi asked before she could stop herself, cold regret shivering down her spine immediately.

Fett didn't answer, and Shmi didn't ask again. 

 

* * *

 

"Is there anything else?," Shmi asked as the sun was setting _(barely a glimpse of the fading rays in the hold, but she knew)_. She shut off the equipment, bone-tired and eager to get out of the cramped space, away from this man who smelled of iron and hummed like blaster fire. Away from the too-quiet Rodian who had watched her from his cage for half a day. 

Fett had watched her for a few minutes as she had started the upgrade, but he had soon disappeared deeper into the ship. Shmi didn’t need to see Fett watching her to feel his eyes on her - the entire ship felt like an extension of him. Thrumming with energy and tight tension that might snap at any moment. After so many hours aboard Slave I Shmi no longer found the energy surrounding Fett quite as frightening as she had previously, but she found the sensation close to unbearable. 

"Yes," the bounty hunter stepped closer, the first word he had spoken to her since the day before. 

 

"Strip." 

 

* * *

  

Shmi was a slave, that she knew better than almost anything. It was all that she could see in her past or her future. 

She knew better than to question orders. No one had any use for an disobedient slave. Years of service at Gardulla's court had taught her that silence and obedience was valued far higher than a slave's opinion. Shmi had learned how to hold her tongue in time. Many of her friends hadn’t.

Still, Fett had required something of her that she hadn't had to give before, and it didn't sit quite right with her. 

She considered telling Watto what the bounty hunter had asked _(wanted, expected, demanded)_ of her, but the way his bulging eyes appraised her the morning after told her that he knew.

It wasn’t surprising, not really, but she still felt a sting of betrayal. 

 

As she reordered the shelves in the shop, Shmi catalogued her feelings. She had always been good at that, or she would have died in Gardulla's service.

There was something like grief stuck in her throat, a reluctance to admit that there was no-one to look out for her but herself. Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. This knowledge should have been imprinted on her soul years ago. Watto had been kinder than most masters, but she was still just a slave. She cursed herself for forgetting what she was, even for a moment.

Shmi thought that she should feel bad about the act itself, the coercion, the initial unwillingness that Fett had ignored.

It had all bled away when he had removed the helmet. When she had seen the man beneath with his tan skin and dark hair, her fear had turned into a simmer of excitement. She remembered the way Fett had pressed his mouth to hers, how he had gripped her hair a touch too tightly. How he had grasped her chin and his eyes had bored into hers until she had to look away. Trepidation had lurked underneath the surface of her skin _(a pull of gravitas she did not understand)_ even as he sank into her. She remembered the moans, the sweat, the desire.

She remembered the fear as well, but it was dimmer now.

 

Shelf after shelf she worked, sinking herself into a monotonous rhythm. It instilled a calmness in her and made breathing was easier again. The shadows grew longer as she lost herself in her work.

When she heard the tightening of leather gloves behind her, she turned, and didn't know what to do with the shudder _(anticipation, desire, fear)_  crawling back under her skin. 

"Can I assist you?," she asked, struggling to maintain a calm exterior.

It was odd, Shmi thought. She could see how he hesitated before her, unmoving. The helmet hid his face, but she could read him better now. The remnant of fear drained away. She had seen him. She had felt the curve of his nose on her throat, had felt him shudder underneath her. 

"Yes," Fett replied, and Shmi nodded. 

 

* * *

 

 He left and Shmi was pleased to see him go. Things went back to normal, just her and Ani and the work in the shop. 

Still, Shmi couldn't help the sensation that something had changed, jolted out of place. 

It wasn't that she missed him, she wasn't that much of a fool. She didn’t wish for him to come back.

Still, she found herself looking to the stars despite herself, wondering if he would ever come back.

 

She wasn't sure why. 

 

* * *

 

Fett returned.

 

        And he returned.

 

                And he returned.

 

Shmi grew used to the slow, crawling shudder at the back of her mind as _Slave I_ touched down in the spaceport. The sound of creaking leather made her throat constrict, and she turned to find him too close every time _(not close enough)_.

"Can I assist you?," she echoed even as she knew the answer.

It was yes, every time except the first.

 

* * *

 

Shmi tried to imagine what life would be like on the _Firespray_. 

She'd been in space before, and she knew it to be cold and uncertain, a void of nothingness and wasted hopes. Imagining that  _Slave I_ would be different was beyond her. 

 _Slave I_ wasn't a gentle ship. Everything on that ship was jarring, off somehow. From Fett to the prisoners, a constant stream of the guilty and the innocent, chained up as animals. The dark durasteel of the beds that cut into your thighs if you weren't careful. Even the way it flew seemed unpleasant. 

 

Her thoughts turned to Ani, safely asleep in the cool back room. She could feel him, soft skin and softer dreams and her heart ached with tenderness. 

The toddler had known nothing in his few young years, except the desperate heat of Tatooine. Watto was kind to them, as much as any master would be. Ani didn't know the bite of a leash or how hunger changed you, and for that she was grateful. 

Shmi imagined the way that Ani would breathe the metallic air on _Slave I_ , how he would sit in the corner of the hold as a captive sat in the cage. Anakin was warm and alive, and everything Fett touched smelled of death. 

She shuddered. 

 

Shmi was valuable to Watto, a decent mechanic and a hard worker. She earned her living, but slaves on Tatooine rarely lasted long. The sand and heat wore them down, aged them before their time. 

Shmi could already feel her joints cracking and her back aching and she knew that Watto felt it as well. She could see that way the Toydarian looked at her _(measuring, weighing, judging)_  and if someone paid the right price, he would be glad to be rid of an aging woman and a toddler too young to be useful. If Fett asked, Shmi had no doubt that Watto would be willing to sell them. 

She hoped he wouldn't ask. 

 

* * *

 

"You would make a good mother," Fett said years later as she tended to one of his captives, a Devaronian with broken horns this time _(split lip, whispered curses, not quite hopeless yet)._

Shmi stared at him. "I already am." 

The bounty hunter showed no sign that he had heard her and the Devaronian grinned at her through broken teeth.

 

* * *

 

Curiosity overcame her. It wasn’t any of her business, but the question had gnawed at her for months, the answer might be worth a beating.

"Do you have a family? Kids?," Shmi asked as she dressed herself.  

"No," Fett said, "not yet. But I'll have a son soon." His words carried a strange weight, and Shmi looked at the bounty hunter. He sat with his back against the hard durasteel of Slave I with a distant, longing gaze that she knew wasn't for her (nor for anyone but himself, for an echo that she didn't quite understand).

They weren’t the words of an expecting father and Shmi wanted to ask more questions, she could feel the string of destiny, it was right in front of her. Something held her back and a soft "oh" escaped her lips.

Understanding dawned. Shmi knew now that she played no part in whatever his future held. It wasn’t her mystery to solve.

 

As she walked home in the desert night, she felt a calm sense of surety that this time, Jango Fett would not return. The stars seemed to shine a little bit brighter as she felt Slave I take off, her heart lighter than it had been in years.

 

There was a touch of destiny surrounding him, but she was older now, wiser. She knew it wasn't hers. 

 

 


End file.
